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Democratization
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What a Little Democracy Can Do: Comparing
Trajectories of Reform in Malaysia and Indonesia
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Comparing Trajectories of Reform in Malaysia and Indonesia', Democratization,
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 What a Little Democracy Can Do: Comparing
Trajectories of Reform in Malaysia and Indonesia
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MEREDITH L. WEISS

Economic crisis sparked political mobilization in both Malaysia and Indonesia in the late
1990s, but with very different results. Reformism in competitive electoral authoritarian
Malaysia took a largely electoral route, yielding marginal, top-down institutional change and
the enhancement of democratic norms. The hegemonic electoral authoritarian regime in neigh-
bouring Indonesia, on the other hand, was toppled by a sudden upsurge of grass-roots protest,
encouraged by elite factionalism. Changes to Indonesian political institutions and personnel
since then have disappointed many reformers, and mounting cynicism endangers the entrench-
ment of democratic political culture. The article argues that a relatively more democratic
system grants more space for autonomous challengers to organize and mobilize over the
long term than a less open system does. Specifically, civil society agents in the former may
accumulate both social capital and its organizational-level counterpart, coalitional capital,
facilitating mobilization. Such a regime, though, is better able to contain or otherwise defuse
protest than is a more autocratic variant. The latter is thus more vulnerable to dramatic collapse,
despite its fragmented political opposition, and faces serious hurdles in subsequent democratic
consolidation.

Key words: democratization; electoral authoritarian; social movements; Malaysia; Indonesia

In 1998, as the Asian economic crisis wreaked havoc throughout East and Southeast
Asia, both Malaysia and Indonesia experienced massive, pro-democratic popular
movements, both dubbed Reformasi. The two movements yielded startlingly different
results. While both Malaysia and Indonesia could be categorized as electoral author-
itarian (and both had been more open and competitive earlier in the post-colonial
period), Malaysia’s higher recent level of democracy proved more impervious to
structural change than Indonesia’s long-lasting, more autocratic, regime. In Malaysia,
political challengers had experienced the opportunity to rally supporters and initiate
networks before the Asian crisis lent an air of urgency to contention, and state-
sanctioned (especially electoral) channels for contention held some promise of viabi-
lity. Reformasi brought only incremental normative change and marginal, top-down
structural change. In Indonesia, on the other hand, massive grass-roots unrest
toppled the incumbent regime, although ideas about what should take its place or
broad normative consensus on governance remained hazy. Within a few years,
Indonesian political institutions had been significantly transformed, despite the
persistence of important elements of the ‘New Order’ ancien régime. This

Dr Meredith Weiss is a Research Fellow at the East-West Center Washington, Washington DC, USA.
Democratization, Vol.14, No.1, February 2007, pp.26–43
ISSN 1351-0347 print=1743-890X online
DOI: 10.1080=13510340601024280 # 2007 Taylor & Francis
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 27

apparently paradoxical disparity suggests an important question: what is it that

accounts for differing trajectories of political reform across electoral authoritarian
regimes, especially when key catalysts are so similar?
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The article argues that the initial endowment of democracy, or political openness
and accountability, plays an important role in determining the course of reformist
initiatives. In particular, how much space opposition activists from both political
society and civil society have to organize, interact and mobilize the public prior to
moments of crisis significantly conditions the nature of their efforts. Their ability
to coordinate at those moments by drawing on reserves of what the author calls ‘coa-
litional capital’, or the trust and understanding that facilitates networking across
groups, is especially critical. Aware of this correlation, authoritarian governments
may strive to regulate or restrict the space available for such long-term engagement.
Where repression cannot be too obvious, elites may tame threats significantly by
channelling them through electoral institutions, although challengers do then have
the potential to organize successfully. Where that safety-valve is not available and
coercion fails, the political order may be far more volatile. The end result is that com-
paratively more open regimes may be subject to long-term, incremental reform of pol-
itical norms and processes but are better able to resist serious institutional challenges
than are their more hardline counterparts.
A comparison of developments in Malaysia and Indonesia since the late 1990s
illustrates this contrast effectively. The study begins by laying out the basic theoreti-
cal framework, then briefly describes what has transpired in Malaysia and Indonesia
from the tumult of 1998 until now. Juxtaposing the trajectories and results of reform
in these two countries highlights the significance of coalitional capital as well as of
political opportunities and threats in shaping attempts at reform. This examination
draws attention to a critical aspect of electoral authoritarian (or illiberal democratic1)
regimes: the importance at critical junctures of the amount of space the hybrid regime
has allowed for formal and informal networking among citizens, political parties and
other associations over the long term and the outlets open to those actors. Importantly,
institutional openings may be underutilized given incompatible interests and bifurcat-
ing social structures. An authoritarian order may feed off and perpetuate societal riv-
alries; a purely institutional approach cannot go very far to explain when common
interests will definitively trump exclusive ones. Still, without space to organize,
such divisions would be even more likely to obscure common ground for effective
coordination around reformist objectives.

The Analytical Framework

Where ‘opposition political actors compete in elections that they generally consider
imperfect, but winnable enough that not participating is not really an option’,
Nicolas van de Walle explains, ‘the ability to coalesce and win a election is in
large part a function of the degree of democracy that exists within the system’.2
Earlier, too, he and Michael Bratton argued that neopatrimonial (personalistic,
corrupt, repressive) regimes, including New Order Indonesia, are vulnerable to
popular protest followed by a very messy transition, given the lack of mediating
 28 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

political institutions for negotiation and routinization of participation and compe-

tition.3 It is that messiness that causes popular upsurges against authoritarianism so
frequently to leave ‘many dashed hopes and frustrated actors’, requiring prompt
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and credible elections to help resurrect a viable public sphere.4 What the present
examination contributes is not just confirmation of these conclusions, but a disaggre-
gation and expansion of the mechanisms involved.
A greater degree of democracy translates into greater ability to develop social
capital as well as coalitional capital. Social capital refers to stores of interpersonal
trust and faith in collective action – knowing one’s neighbours, believing that
others will follow through on commitments and so forth. It is augmented by the
very sort of collective endeavours it makes possible, though it resists quantification
and may lie largely dormant at times. Coalitional capital is the organizational counter-
part of social capital: it is developed through and facilitates collaboration across
groups. Groups, like individuals, are more likely to cooperate when they trust their
counterparts, understand their general objectives and orientation and can expect a
degree of reciprocity. Having networked before (whether in the context of democratic
episodes or otherwise) abbreviates the learning curve of getting to know what groups
have in common and how they differ, and why working together is likely to be more
effective than struggling alone.5 As a result, non-governmental organizations (NGOs)
or parties’ past experience of working in coalition is likely to be a fairly good predic-
tor of future attempts at doing so, just as citizens who have organized collectively in
the past are less likely to remain atomized subsequently.
Not just political parties, but also non-party opposition groups, are critical to
reform in electoral authoritarian regimes. However, analyses tend to focus primarily
on formal politics and elite machinations, even while acknowledging the importance
of popular mobilization at least at the moment of transition. For example, van de
Walle extends beyond elections mainly just to the point of elite deal-making.6 That
aspect really applies only to institutional reform; the normative dimensions of politi-
cal change, or establishment of a democratic political culture, are more likely to entail
civil societal engagement. All hybrid regimes leave at least some space for groups and
coalitions to develop in advance of crises, but some leave more space than others. The
present approach hence builds upon a distinction between ‘hegemonic’ and ‘competi-
tive’ electoral authoritarian regimes, or those in which leaders are invincible as
opposed to somewhat insecure,7 by moving beyond the party system in analysing
sources of regime vulnerability and by differentiating between structural and norma-
tive shifts.
Even in a comparatively restrictive electoral authoritarian system, citizens may
engage via civil society or political society (however attenuated either sphere may
be); with either a pro- or anti-regime orientation; and focused on the state, civil
society, business interests, or some other target. Their strategic choices range from
‘contained’ to ‘transgressive’, in McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly’s terms, depending on
whether ‘previously established actors [employ] well established means of claim
making’ or whether ‘newly self-identified political actors’ or innovative strategies
are involved.8 The more competitive the electoral system, for instance, the more
likely citizens are to opt for contained contention; a more hegemonic order may
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 29

leave only transgressive channels for opposition. The character of the regime thus
plays a key role in structuring engagement. Shaping this engagement are not just con-
crete incentives and disincentives (for instance, patronage given government suppor-
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ters or penalties for participation in banned organizations) and institutional rules

(such as voting systems conducive to opposition unity9), but also intangible factors
such as social capital and coalitional capital.
Of more importance, the possibility of collective action says little, if anything,
about the ideological direction or programmatic content of that action. ‘Civil
society’ is not a unitary actor or necessarily opposed to ‘the state’ – which itself
may be significantly fragmented. To emphasize this diversity, the term ‘civil
society agents’ (CSAs) is used to refer to the panoply of more or less organized inter-
ests and activists. The boundaries between civil society and political society may be
permeable – especially in electoral authoritarian systems, where the state’s relative
tolerance of formal and informal competition may vacillate. Still, the distinction
between these arenas matters and is clearly evident in their core objectives: CSAs
aim to influence public policies and political behaviour and political society contests
for ‘control over public power and the state apparatus’.10
Particularly in an electoral authoritarian context, political reform entails both
normative and institutional changes. Such governments maintain control not just
through coercion, but also by precluding ideological alternatives. Political cultural
shifts, or the adoption of new political norms or priorities among a critical mass of
citizens, are thus a vital precursor and accompaniment to structural reform. It is
partly for this reason that catalysts such as an economic crisis may be so potent: not
only may the dwindling of available patronage resources erode popular support or
spark infighting among state cadres, but economic failure challenges the government’s
claims to omniscience and makes alternatives seem more convincing.11 In general,
where elections are held, political parties take the lead in institutional change, while
CSAs promote broader mobilization and socialization toward new political norms.
Again, though, both civil society and political society may be highly heterogeneous.
Larry Diamond sums up the challenge of changing an electoral authoritarian
regime: ‘While an opposition victory is not impossible in a hybrid regime, it requires
a level of opposition mobilization, unity, skill, and heroism far beyond what would
normally be required for victory in a democracy.’12 The more controlling the
regime, the more likely it is to have forced its opponents underground or to the
margins. The less hegemonic the regime, the greater the opportunity for challengers
to accumulate social capital and coalitional capital through collective engagement
over time, rendering them better prepared to coalesce – as Diamond suggests they
must – when the moment seems right. This unity, though, may foster greater norma-
tive than institutional change and favour contained channels, rather than sparking
cataclysmic change (especially to institutions) through transgressive means.

Developments in Malaysia and Indonesia

A comparison of developments since the late 1990s in Malaysia and Indonesia
effectively demonstrates these distinctions. As the framework outlined here
 30 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

implies, where a greater initial level of democracy allows the accumulation over time
of social and coalitional capital and encourages use of contained rather than transgres-
sive tactics, incremental normative and institutional change are most plausible. Pol-
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itical reform in a more autocratic system is more likely to take the form of
momentous institutional upheaval and persistent disarray, given a lack of normative
consensus on the ends desired. A more fine-grained analysis of how either country’s
electoral authoritarianism came to take the shape it did would be beyond the scope of
this article – but the deeply-entrenched ethnic cleavages that have helped bolster the
Malaysian government’s divide and rule strategy, for instance, obviously present an
important backdrop for subsequent developments. Institutions and interests are sig-
nificantly mutually constitutive, but once in place, institutions may have the ‘last
word’ in barring some interests from full articulation.

Malaysia
Elections fall short of free and fair under Malaysia’s competitive electoral authoritar-
ian regime, but their outcome is not entirely a foregone conclusion, especially at the
state level. The National Front coalition (previously called the Alliance) has governed
at the federal level and in most states since independence in 1957. The primary
dimension along which the incumbent government is aligned is ethnicity (usually
termed communalism); the population of 23 million is about 65 per cent bumiputera
(Malays – all of whom are Muslim – and smaller indigenous groups), 26 per cent
Chinese and 8 per cent Indian. Malays have always been dominant politically and
the constitution guarantees their ultimate sovereignty, but Chinese have sustained
greater economic power, even despite massive affirmative action programmes to
benefit bumiputera in access to education, government contracts, credit and invest-
ment opportunities, and more. While often described as consociational,13 the
system better approximates a ‘control’ model, given that non-communal14 parties
and factions compete alongside truly communal ones, and Malays have come to
prevail over (rather than share power on equal terms with) other ethnic groups.15
By co-opting challengers – a remarkably fruitful means of neutralizing dissent in
Malaysia – the National Front has expanded over the years, from three parties in the
Alliance to over a dozen today. However, the initial members still dominate and the
communal structure and ideological timbre of the coalition have remained relatively
consistent: co-optation of differently organized parties has arguably changed the
parties in question far more than it has the coalition. The National Front now occupies
the vast middle ground of Malaysian politics, leaving opposition parties polarized
along the margins, from Islamism to socialism. The early institutionalization of the
then more truly consociational Alliance, the near-congruence of religious and
racial cleavages (such that Malay and Muslim allegiances align), and the suppression
of labour- or class-based politics helped to entrench an elite-driven, communally
oriented order, albeit with persistent critics on the far left and far right. Open advo-
cacy of communalism has diminished over the years, nudged aside by discourses
of ‘development’, ‘harmony’ and in some cases, Islam. Still, most attempts of
opposition parties to collaborate against the monolithic National Front over the
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 31

years have been stymied by racial and religious cleavages – cleavages which serve to
reinforce the disempowering effects of less-than-liberal political institutions.
Opposition parties and politically oriented NGOs are allowed to form and partici-
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pate in the polity, albeit subject to registration requirements and other restrictions.
(Some groups, however, such as the once potent Malayan Communist Party and
radical or ‘deviant’ Islamic groups, have been prohibited.) Opposition parties –
especially the Pan-Malaysian Islamic Party (PAS) and left-wing Democratic Action
Party (DAP) – regularly gain at least 40 per cent of the popular vote (which translates
into disproportionately few parliamentary seats, given electoral rules and constitu-
ency delineation, but sometimes control over one or two state legislatures). Mean-
while, religious and secular NGOs have developed in civil society especially since
the 1970s. Most focus on informal politics or activism within civil society, but
many have strong links with government or opposition political parties. The police
or other government officials may obstruct or break up opposition events. On the
whole, though, the state is quite selective in drawing upon more coercive means at
its disposal, even though the legacy of the cold war era assault on communists is a
well-stocked arsenal of such means. All things considered, popular fears notwith-
standing, the threat of arrest or other serious sanction for oppositional activity is com-
paratively low – although cooperating with the government not only avoids those
costs altogether, but may bring rewards in terms of patronage or (the regime avers)
continued economic development and racial harmony.
Given how commodious an umbrella the National Front provides, major political
change is unlikely unless usually polarized opposition parties find some way to coor-
dinate their efforts, at least through an electoral pact to avoid splitting the opposition
vote, if not with a full-fledged coalition. However, the ideological distance between
parties is great and historically, ‘the imperatives for unity have invariably proved
weaker than the divisions caused by communal sentiment, ideology and the desire
[among parties and their leaders] for an individual identity’.16 Undemocratic insti-
tutional constraints aside, fear of alienating their core constituencies leaves parties
limited room to manoeuvre. For instance, Malay-majority Islamist parties and
Chinese-majority leftist parties may both want democratization, stronger protections
for civil liberties and a degree of economic redistribution, but justify and speak about
these goals in different terms in order to appeal to different sets of voters. The very
idea of cooperation between Islamist and secular parties is considered suspect from
both sides – as a betrayal of either Islamist aspirations or commitment to secular gov-
ernance. The spectres of radical Islam on the one hand and Chinese ‘chauvinism’ on
the other go far in helping the National Front scare off support for cross-party opposi-
tion pacts.
In contrast, while most NGOs appear at least somewhat communal in their mem-
bership, they are oriented more around issues than ethnicity. They can and do thus
forge strategic alliances across ethnic and religious lines without compromising
their character. Among the most influential Malaysian NGOs have been human
rights groups like Aliran Kesedaran Negara (National Consciousness Movement,
Aliran) and Suara Rakyat Malaysia (Voice of the Malaysian People, Suaram);
women’s groups like the All Women’s Action Society; and consumers’ groups like
 32 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

the Consumers’ Association of Penang – all of which are non-communal in ideology

and composition. By their focus on specific issues, such CSAs may have greater flexi-
bility than parties in finding ways to bridge the gap between constituencies in the
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name of opposition unity. Increasingly since the 1980s, CSAs of varying racial and
religious orientations have found common ground in support for particular issues
(such as against police brutality and for judicial independence), even when similar
cooperation has eluded political parties and politicians. Up until the late 1990s,
more comprehensive coordination proved elusive, but the Reformasi movement
that took shape in late 1998 – energized by disgruntlement with corruption,
‘money politics’, declining employment and exchange rates and the like – built
upon previous, smaller-scale efforts to unite the opposition for both normative and
institutional political change.
In September 1998, a year into the Asian crisis, a popular government leader and
former Islamic activist, Deputy Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim, was dismissed from
his government and party posts. Though he was charged with corruption and sodomy
(the conviction for sodomy was overturned in 2004), conventional wisdom insisted
that Anwar had been deposed for challenging his mentor, Prime Minister Mahathir
Mohamad, including on matters of economic policy. Anwar’s supporters provided
the kernel for the massive Reformasi movement. Activists from civil society, opposi-
tion parties and the ruling coalition – including many who had already been pursuing
broad-based mobilization in light of the Asian crisis – saw a political opportunity and
came together to demand systemic reforms: good governance, civil liberties, a less
communal political orientation and so forth. The overarching theme of the campaign
was ‘justice’ – for Anwar, under Islam, through democracy, or in socio-economic
terms. Central targets of the campaign included Prime Minister Mahathir
Mohamad, crony capitalists, subservient law enforcement and judicial officers and
others associated with the National Front government. Organized loosely under
two umbrella coalitions, activists focused initially on street protests, proclamations
and other comparatively confrontational tactics. Given both repression and looming
elections, the movement soon gravitated toward electoral negotiations. With material,
mobilizational and discursive assistance from CSAs, and with Anwar as a potent
symbol, the four principal opposition parties forged an Alternative Front of unprece-
dented breadth to challenge the National Front in the 1999 elections.17
The opposition’s campaign in 1999 was conceived of as an extension of the Refor-
masi movement. CSAs were critical to the launch of the Alternative Front and
retained core roles – running for office, campaigning on behalf of opposition
parties, helping the coalition to craft and frame its platform and working to mobilize
the public around reformist goals. The Alternative Front was intended to remain
idealistic, issue-oriented and non-communal, even if the parties failed at times to
sustain that goal.18 Crucial to the relative success of the Front in cohering and
having a real impact at the polls was that the coalition was rooted in, supported by
and monitored by a wide range of CSAs and could call upon a proactive, normative
agenda that evoked a sequence of reform initiatives in the past. Previous coalition-
building initiatives from the 1950s through the 1990s had not only left activists
with a repertoire of strategies, but also with ever-greater stores of coalitional
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 33

capital: the groups involved were familiar with each others’ ideologies and goals, had
established means of communicating and had built up at least some degree of mutual
trust and expectations of reciprocity on the organizational level. Drawing upon this
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resource, groups could efficiently negotiate and propagate a mutually agreeable

(and hence necessarily relatively moderate) platform.
In the end, bolstered by incumbency advantage and skewed electoral rules, the
National Front prevailed, though its whittled-down margins served as a ‘wake-up
call’ to party leaders and prompted internal reform as well as new policy initiatives.
In particular, the National Front was forced to take note of demands for accountability
and better governance – and for Mahathir’s departure. Efforts at top-down reform
gained steam once Mahathir handed over the premiership to his latest deputy, Abdul-
lah Badawi, in advance of the next polls, in October 2003. Such efforts represent
another core strategy by which the governing coalition sustains its dominance
without recourse to coercion,19 but the strategy requires that opponents be able to
express their concerns so the National Front can redress (and hence, defang) them.
Abdullah’s reputation was more friendly, clean and pious than Mahathir’s. Seeking
to build electoral support, Abdullah began with a populist approach. Among his
first acts were bolstering the Anti-Corruption Agency; charging a Police Commission
to investigate the force; refocusing state development efforts from megaprojects to
smaller, rural initiatives; and freeing a number of opposition activists, culminating
with the release of Anwar in September 2004 – a move which ‘sent a strong signal
of commitment to judicial integrity’.20 However, pressure to cultivate a stronger
base within his own party soon put the brakes on crowd-pleasing corruption indict-
ments and bureaucratic reforms. After mid-2004, Abdullah turned his reformist eye
more to political culture, introducing the concept of Islam Hadhari (Civilizational
Islam) as a tolerant, modern orientation to compete with the vision of PAS.21
By the 2004 general elections, the National Front had reconsolidated its grip.
Abdullah’s avowed reformism and a generalized sense that he should be given a
chance to make good on his promises, as well as a sufficiently strong economy that
voters were disinclined to gamble on an untested alternative, helped the coalition.
Meanwhile, mounting popular panic about the dangers of Islamic radicalism (proble-
matic for the increasingly Islamist PAS), policy disputes between Islamist and secular
portions of the opposition, and a lack of clear and compelling catalysts as in the late
1990s stalled collaboration among opposition parties. Divided, the opposition made
less of an impact: the incumbent coalition posted its best showing ever. All the
same, the Reformasi movement had clearly reflected and promoted mounting pro-
democratic demands. Steps toward consensus on the sort of order desired clearly
benefited from a long history of incremental efforts at coalition-building in both
civil society and political society. Never before had PAS and the DAP been able to
work so closely together – and never before had CSAs played so active a role in
maintaining the focus on issues of mutual concern. Most important of all, the
parties and CSAs involved had accumulated stores of coalitional capital on which
to draw, facilitating coordination and cooperation. These advantages allowed a
‘symbolic victory’ for the opposition and seemed to foretell the development of
‘more participatory democratic institutions in the longer term’.22
 34 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

Overall, then, the prior existence of enough democratic space for opposition
actors to organize, mobilize and network left the regime’s challengers relatively
well prepared to coalesce when political opportunity structures were favourable.
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The resultant coalition was – not surprisingly – comparatively moderate in approach

and objectives. The imperatives of coalition-building meant that radical demands
were tempered through compromise. Moreover, the availability of electoral channels
for reform – and the popular perception that to be legitimate, change should come
through the ‘democratic’ mechanism of elections – shifted attention from the
streets to the ballot-box. What one might expect in such a system is thus the very
sort of incremental change Malaysia experienced: development of an electoral
alternative with a proactive agenda (which then encouraged a rejoinder from the
incumbent and hence, at least minor reforms) rather than a reactive, mass insurgency.

Indonesia
While Malaysian and Indonesian events bear some similarities, these cases are clearly
very different in scale, processes and outcomes. Suharto’s hegemonic electoral
authoritarian New Order regime, in power for over 30 years by the time the Reformasi
movement emerged, placed much stricter and more harshly enforced controls on
association than the Malaysian government ever has. All parties except three state-
sanctioned amalgamated ones were banned. Independent labour unions, critical
NGOs and activist student groups were largely proscribed, although not obliterated.
For instance, students periodically asserted themselves, mass Islamic organizations
persisted (albeit with less overtly political objectives) and advocacy organizations
took root, even if somewhat covertly.23 The government instituted a ‘floating mass’
policy, encouraging Indonesians to place unity and development above involvement
in the details of politics, specifically to keep the population atomized and depoliti-
cized. Hence, Suharto ‘eliminated the possibility of any organized or coordinated
social challenge to the regime . . . [such that] even disruptive and troublesome
protest or rioting could not attain the kind of coordination or longevity necessary
to contend for state power’.24 Moreover, unlike in Malaysia, the armed forces had
a secure political position in Indonesia (thanks primarily to the doctrine of dwifungsi,
or their dual position in defence and socio-political affairs) and were far less hesitant
to employ brutal coercive tactics.
These constraints worked to dismantle or erode stocks of social capital and coali-
tional capital built up during Indonesia’s more democratic prior period; ‘floating’
rather than networked citizens were presumed less a threat to the political order.
While New Order Indonesia did experience protests and riots, the state’s tactics ren-
dered these largely isolated from one another and the populations involved sensed
little point of connection with each other.25 As a result, while ‘opposition was ubiqui-
tous, at least in the late Suharto years’, it was unofficial and so pessimistic about the
chances of reform that dissidents gave little thought to specifying a preferred alterna-
tive order.26
Nonetheless, faced with a dire economic situation, obvious and massive corrup-
tion among elites, Suharto’s unpopularity and declining health, and international
support for democratization, a massive ground swell for political reform came
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 35

together in the late 1990s. Indonesian students, NGOs, labour groups, opposition
parties, Islamic organizations, urban masses and others (legal or not) all launched
or joined protests, as fragmented elites began to take sides.27 Their efforts were
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largely uncoordinated and centred around divergent concerns. Students were

central to the movement and had particular mobilizational potential,28 but their
chief goal was reactive – the ouster of Suharto – and the alternative list of leaders
they helped to promote was more conservative than the bulk of students. Suharto
was obliged to resign – doing so even earlier than those calling for his downfall
expected – when the disjointed opposition ‘convince[d] those in power to exercise
their authority to move Suharto aside’.29
Suharto was succeeded by his former deputy, B.J. Habibie. Habibie relaxed some
controls on formal and informal political activity and moved toward a general elec-
tion, upholding the 1945 constitution for stability, but with promises of reforms to
come.30 Events moved quickly. By the time of the polls in June 1999, it remained
unclear what sort of power-sharing might happen among parties and whether CSAs
would be able to retain a niche in formal politics. No party of the 48 contesting
attracted more than half the popular vote. The only real electoral pact was among
eight Muslim parties that formed a ‘central axis’ ( poros tengah), although still
jointly lagging behind the front runners in the polls. The axis’s main achievement
was keeping popular favourite Megawati Sukarnoputri – whose party secured a plur-
ality of votes – out of the presidency in 1999, after which point the grouping lost
steam.31 Indeed, the coalition that eventually formed the government (under
Abdurrahman Wahid in 1999, then Megawati after Wahid’s removal from office
less than two years later) proved too broad and unstable, the new leaders’ commit-
ment to serious overhaul of the military and other state institutions dubious, corrup-
tion still debilitating, and CSAs (especially students, notwithstanding their pivotal
initial role) largely excluded from decision-making.32 It is revealing that despite
the raising of issues and demands by students and other activists – expressed most
cogently in the student-brokered/elite-endorsed eight-point Ciganjur Declaration of
November 1998 – the only significant party to focus on substantive, progressive
policy proposals rather than generalized mantras of reform, Amien Rais’s National
Mandate Party, proved a ‘tragic story’, faring poorly in the polls.33
Indonesia has experienced significant institutional change since the end of the New
Order, although falling far short of what many activists sought. Among these reforms
– many codified in far-reaching constitutional amendments in 2001 and 2002 – the
size and composition of the legislature have been adjusted; parties and other organiz-
ations have been allowed to form more freely and for more diverse purposes; restric-
tions on the press, speech and association have been lifted; the military has lost its
assured political position; substantial authority has been devolved to local-level gov-
ernments (including special provisions for Aceh and Papua and secession via referen-
dum in East Timor); and the president and vice-president are now directly elected.34
Moreover, parties touting better governance and clean leadership did relatively well
(albeit less so than Suharto’s own Golkar) in the 1999 and 2004 parliamentary elec-
tions. Egregiously, though, few top New Order government or military officials
have been brought to trial, let alone convicted, even as corruption remains endemic
 36 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

and ‘petty political protesters run too easily afoul of the law’.35 Suharto was declared
‘permanently ill’ and unfit for trial, his son Hutomo Mandala Putra (Tommy) escaped
custody before serving a sentence for corruption, Golkar chair Akbar Tanjung ran for
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president while out on appeal on embezzlement charges, General Wiranto ran against
him while evading trial altogether for alleged crimes against humanity in East Timor,
and other former military officers have simply failed to show up in court.36
Indeed, institutional reform has been erratic. Most of the parties and leaders in
place even after the 2004 elections have their roots in the New Order administration
and armed forces – not least former general Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, chosen as
Indonesia’s first directly elected president. Political institutions still exclude ‘organ-
ised representation from the democratic movement’.37 Given the lack of a strong and
organized alternative to the New Order government, ‘the only Indonesian actors posi-
tioned to take power were those with some existing access to state power’.38 In par-
ticular, the persistently high political stature of leaders from the military and Golkar
suggests the extent of continuity even today at the elite level. Max Lane charges that
Reformasi elites thus ‘were just as afraid of mass mobilisations as the regime was’39
and therefore could not be expected to promote an emboldened public. Attempts at
forging more coherent coalitions for the executive or legislative branch have failed,
too.40 The selection of running mates is more opportunistic than idealistic, keeping
parties personalistic and coalitions too broad to function effectively. Party platforms
steer clear of substantive issues and appeal primarily to enduring societal cleavages
rather than policy goals.41 The tangible benefits of more free elections as well as
the permeation of democratic norms may thus be curbed by the persistent dominance
of such fragmented elites. Moreover, continuing separatist tensions and sporadic
terrorist attacks have undercut hopes of scaling back military power, even if the
armed forces are unlikely to regain a political mandate.42
Overall, as one comprehensive democratic audit concludes, Indonesia still requires
‘drastic changes to power relations by way of social movements and mass organising
before rights and institutions may be deemed to carry any meaning’.43 At least an
authoritarian backlash seems unlikely, if only because CSAs have quickly been
sidelined, leaving no ‘strong pro-reform constituency’.44 Meanwhile, established
elites have regrouped, and ‘while allowing democratization to go forward, . . . [have
truncated] democratic procedures that might otherwise threaten their interests’.45
Given the lack of coherence, credibility and stability of Indonesia’s post-transition
governments so far, however – institutional changes and optimistic predictions
notwithstanding – the depth and scope of democratization remain uncertain.46
In sum, the nature of the New Order precluded the accumulation of sufficient coa-
litional capital for development of a proactive rather than just reactive reform move-
ment. As Aspinall describes, Suharto’s manipulations left opposition forces ‘ill suited
to the tasks of democratic consolidation’47 when he was forced from office:

[The] mixture of repression and toleration, of coercion and co-optation that the
regime used to control dissent . . . produced an opposition that was eventually
very effective at performing some of the tasks necessary to achieve democrati-
zation, such as undermining the legitimacy of authoritarian rule. But it was less
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 37

well-suited to performing others, such as formulating an alternative to the

regime’s ideology or organizing an alternative to its leadership.48
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In 1998, protesters could identify a common enemy, but had no time to develop a
sense of mutual interests and objectives, trust and expectations of reciprocity, or
agreement on strategies in advance of Suharto’s fall. Moreover, the lack of available
channels for contained contention under the New Order forced opponents of the gov-
ernment toward transgressive channels, from petitions, to marches, to the students’
occupation of the parliament building. Their experience of and inclination toward
elections was thus more limited than in Malaysia.
Since Reformasi, the democratic movement ‘has not only been marginalised by
the mainstream elitist politics of democratisation . . . [but] also continues to reflect
Soeharto’s “floating mass” politics by being fragmented, poorly organized and
rather isolated from ordinary people’.49 The change that occurred was dramatic
rather than incremental, as the tumult was enough to knock Suharto out of the
picture. However, what was to come next remained uncertain long after the mêlée
had subsided. Ineffective leaders and haphazard alliances have allowed the ‘stone-
walling and sabotaging of reform efforts from within and the inability of the new
government to draw a clear line between the authoritarian New Order past and the
democratic future’.50 Key structures and leaders of the New Order linger still,
despite important institutional reforms; the state remains critically weak; civil
society remains poorly situated for political efficacy; and the normative shifts that
come with consciousness-raising by CSAs have yet to take root. Ending the New
Order did make room for democratization, but the extent of substantive, stable insti-
tutional and normative change has fallen far short of activists’ expectations. Annual
public opinion surveys since 2001 find that cynicism toward political institutions,
leaders, and the quality of political life is ‘widely shared and has been rising’.51 By
now, concludes the aforementioned audit, ‘people are increasingly disappointed
with democracy’,52 leaving democratic consolidation far from assured.

The Difference Democracy Makes: The Cases Compared

The divergence between these two states’ experiences is revealing regarding the tra-
jectories of political reform in different electoral authoritarian settings. These findings
augment our understanding of the role of civil society in democratic transitions, the
aftermath of moments of popular upsurge and the challenges of democratic consoli-
dation. The hypotheses explored here about the significance of antecedent levels of
democracy warrant further elaboration in light of additional cases. Still, extrapolating
from just the Malaysian and Indonesian cases, at least four findings seem especially
plausible. The findings concern the timing of processes of transition, the significance
of sequencing, the ideological heterogeneity possible, and the relative significance to
reform of forces from civil society and political society.
First, timing is critical. How long reformers have between the lifting of controls
on association – particularly to allow the formation of parties – and moments such as
elections, when coordinated action is necessary, matters immensely. Citizens need
 38 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

time to build up social capital, think of alternatives and develop confidence in their
ability to effect political change. Likewise, groups must nurture coalitional capital,
including finding allies, identifying points of common concern and cementing alle-
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giances. Otherwise, the sort of disarray Indonesia has experienced is likely: cultivat-
ing new leaders and agendas after protracted strong authoritarianism may be a trickier
process than overturning authoritarian institutions. Realistically, too, the panoply of
incumbent authority figures (local bureaucrats, police, and so forth) may take a
while to learn and come to obey new guidelines and attitudes. Even assuming an itera-
tive process over time, as in Malaysia, the mechanics of assembling and coordinating
a range of organizations, finding what is shared across their agendas (when in fact,
their differences may be great), negotiating compromise positions and thinking of
ways to communicate a coalition’s agenda to the public as an electoral platform
still requires a substantial interval between the initial steps and elections. In the mean-
while, the incumbent government may grant some concessions to regain the advan-
tage. Of course, especially in a less democratic context, the regime has the chance
to co-opt or repress opponents in that interim, as well. The formation of Malaysia’s
National Front out of the much smaller Alliance after a serious challenge in 1969
is a case in point. Once absorbed into the government, dissident parties might still
keep a reformist edge, but they also bolster the state. Similarly, permitting at least
some critical NGOs may boost the state’s image and effective capacity without
being easily translated into an electoral threat.53
Second, the process of organizing for collective action before reformists reach the
stage of having to form a government may have the effect of toning down more radical
demands and strategies. This process of moderation is facilitated by the availability of
coalitional capital, which renders collaboration across groups more efficient. Negotiat-
ing a common platform requires reaching consensus on demands and methods to
accommodate diverse preferences. Along the same lines, having time for negotiation
allows determination in advance of a mutually agreeable list of leaders, ideally includ-
ing ones who can unite segments of the probably polarized opposition. As a result,
destabilizing, reactive change grows less likely than incremental, sustainable, and
proactive measures. At the same time, cultivating new, reformist leaders mitigates
the advantage enjoyed by those already with access to power and makes substantial
leadership turnover more likely. Meaningful institutional and other change may still
occur even if the opposition fails to coalesce, but the broader the base of support
for reforms, the more likely they are to succeed and persist.
Third, neither ‘civil society’ nor ‘reform’ should be presumed pro-democratic.
Transitions from (electoral) authoritarianism may be toward democracy or ‘an uncer-
tain “something” else’.54 As Levitsky and Way stress, ‘While the removal of auto-
cratic elites creates an important opportunity for change and even democratization,
it does not ensure such an outcome’.55 The timbre and composition of reformist
coalitions and demands may vary significantly, depending on which social forces
have room to manoeuvre, popular legitimacy, useful connections, or other advan-
tages. For example, drawing on the experience of the two cases considered here as
well as of the Philippines and Thailand, Eva-Lotta Hedman identifies variations in
the nature of the regime, constellation of classes, legacy of the left and nature of
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 39

religious institutions as essential to understanding aspects of mobilization specifically

for liberal democracy.56 Whatever common ground unites groups drawn to collective
action is likely to emerge as the dominant position, even if not representative of
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society at large. If, for instance, Islamist forces coalesced but secular NGOs could
not work out their differences, the dominant reformist discourse in either Indonesia
or Malaysia might have been (or may yet become) far more Islamist and perhaps
less pro-democratic than it has been.
Finally, these two cases emphasize the fact that a focus on civil society-based acti-
vism can easily be overstated. Clearly, as Iris Young asserts, ‘While civil society can
promote democracy, social justice, and well-being . . . there are limits to what citizens
can accomplish in civil society alone’.57 More broadly, not only do political parties
tend to predominate where elections are part of the political process, but other state
institutions (for instance, the military or bureaucracy) as well as incompatibilities
across social groups may also significantly help or hinder reform processes. As was
evident in Indonesia, the nature of authoritarianism aside, different constituencies
within civil society may be similarly aggravated and even vocal, but find little ideo-
logical common ground, have too little mutual trust and understanding to cooperate,
or lack the capacity for proactive mobilization and strategizing. Overall, the ‘combi-
nation of repression with toleration for constrained forms of political action’ makes
for an especially resilient authoritarian regime.58 In the same vein, the extent and
intensity of the catalysts that spark mobilization, as well as the availability of
broadly acceptable, charismatic leaders may mitigate the effect of even the most con-
sistently engaged and influential CSAs. It is impossible to say how much of the
National Front’s success in 1999, for instance, was due simply to timely economic
recovery, or to the lack of any galvanizing crises in 2004.
Taken together, these two cases highlight the complex, interlacing dynamics of
political reform. The nature of the incumbent regime significantly constrains the chal-
lenges it faces, the roles in reform of CSAs and parties, and the likely trajectories of
political change. This analysis suggests an element of path dependency: regimes that
veer toward democracy to begin with are more susceptible to moderate, contained
demands; regimes that veer toward authoritarianism are more likely to be shattered
only by transgressive, radical protest. Along these lines, too, citizens and groups
that have networked in the past are more prone and able to forge alliances in the
future. The importance of coalitional capital in particular in uniting portions of the
political opposition may recommend taking reform slowly to allow mutual trust
and networks to develop, or just not to expect too much from the first phase of demo-
cratization or liberalization.

Conclusions
Depending on the specific character of electoral authoritarianism, social capital and
coalitional capital may be more or less easy to accumulate. Regardless, as these
examples suggest, coalition-building is likely to be a critical phase of political
change processes in electoral authoritarian regimes. A little more democracy in the
status quo ante makes coordinated reformism far easier to organize on short notice,
 40 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

allowing activists to take advantage of crises or other shifts in political opportunity

structures. Without this resource, reform may still happen, but it is more likely
than otherwise to be cataclysmic and reactive, leaving the path to democratic conso-
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lidation obscured. Furthermore, competitive electoral authoritarian regimes not only

leave more space than less democratic counterparts for civil society, they also host
more meaningful elections. It is that electoral outlet that allows governments like
Malaysia’s to contain protest, albeit often in connection with other measures to sup-
press or meet calls for change. Controlled reform may leave a competitive electoral
authoritarian regime not just intact, but sturdier than before.
The contrast between Malaysia and Indonesia illuminates these findings. In
Malaysia, a comparatively permissive, competitive electoral authoritarian system had
left a fair degree of at least largely autonomous space for civil society and opposition
parties to develop. Over the years, CSAs in particular had networked around specific
issues, and even polarized opposition parties had been able to negotiate some sort of
electoral pact in past elections. Thus, when the Asian economic crisis revealed an
opportunity for mass mobilization and systemic reform, the various parts of Malaysia’s
political opposition were able to coalesce and negotiate a mutual platform relatively
expeditiously. Pushed toward elections, but faced with an uneven electoral playing
field, the opposition lost. The government was still sufficiently alarmed by the scope
of protest to adopt limited institutional reforms. It emerged stronger than before the
crisis, even as the experience of mobilizing furthered democratic norms across Malay-
sian society. In Indonesia, on the other hand, three decades of hegemonic authoritarian
rule had left opposition parties debilitated and CSAs mutually wary. Collective realiz-
ation in 1998 that rifts in the military left threats of repression comparatively low, while
the opportunity for change was high on account of Suharto’s unprecedented political
and physical weakness, led dissidents in Indonesia as in Malaysia to pursue reform.
That mass upsurge brought down the authoritarian order, but did so before all involved
had worked out any sort of proactive consensus. While democratization is gradually
proceeding in Indonesia, the CSAs most critical at the transgressive stage were
largely shut out from influence in later stages and a broadly supported, truly new and
reform-minded leadership has yet to emerge.
To sum up, the amount of space and level of autonomy CSAs and political parties
enjoy under a given electoral authoritarian regime significantly conditions the trajec-
tory of reformist efforts, the strategies and organizations involved and the sorts of
change likely to occur. A relatively more democratic regime may (somewhat
perversely) be better able to withstand or manage reformist pressures than a more
autocratic variant since these are more likely to be expressed through contained
channels and may still be pre-empted through co-optation or concessions. Clearly,
even within the same broad regime sub-type, a little democracy can do a lot.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author thanks Bill Case, Beth Kelly, Ellen Lust-Okar, and audiences at Georgetown University,
Northern Illinois University and Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia for their comments on an earlier
version of the article and on the argument. Any remaining faults are entirely her own.
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 41

NOTES

1. A sub-type of authoritarianism rather than democracy is used here not to cast a normative judgment, but
to stress the limits in place ‘on the freedom, fairness, inclusiveness, and meaningfulness of elections’ in
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these regimes, unlike in electoral democracies. See Larry Diamond, ‘Thinking About Hybrid Regimes’,
Journal of Democracy, Vol. 13, No. 2 (2002), p. 28. See also, Daniel Bell and Kanishka Jayasuriya,
‘Understanding Illiberal Democracy: A Framework’, in Daniel Bell, David Brown, Kanishka
Jayasuriya and David Martin Jones, Towards Illiberal Democracy in Pacific Asia (New York: St.
Martin’s Press, 1995), pp. 1–16.
2. Nicolas van de Walle, ‘When Do Oppositions Coalesce in Electoral Autocracies?’, Paper presented at
the American Political Science Association Annual Meeting, Chicago, 2–6 September 2004, p.4. His
analysis is based on sub-Saharan African cases.
3. Michael Bratton and Nicolas van de Walle, ‘Neopatrimonial Regimes and Political Transitions in
Africa’, World Politics, Vol. 46, No. 4 (1994), pp.453–89.
4. Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Con-
clusions About Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), pp.55–7.
5. The author develops this concept further in Meredith L. Weiss, Protest and Possibilities: Civil Society
and Coalitions for Political Change in Malaysia (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006),
pp.31–3.
6. Van de Walle, (note 2), p.7.
7. Andreas Schedler, ‘The Menu of Manipulation’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 13, No. 2 (2002), p.47.
8. Doug McAdam, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly, Dynamics of Contention (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2001), pp.7–8.
9. Van de Walle, (note 2), p.10.
10. Alfred Stepan, Rethinking Military Politics: Brazil and the Southern Cone (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1988), p.4.
11. Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern
Europe, South America and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1996).
12. Diamond, (note 1), p.24.
13. Arend Lijphart, ‘Consociational Democracy’, World Politics, Vol. 21, No. 2 (1969), pp.207–25.
14. Non-communal refers to ‘attitudes, orientations or actions motivated by a concern for the common
good rather than by a preoccupation with the interests of a single ethnic group (or combination of
ethnic groups)’. See Simon Barraclough, ‘Barisan Nasional Dominance and Opposition Fragmentation:
The Failure of Attempts to Create Opposition Cooperation in the Malaysian Party System’, Asian
Profile, Vol. 13, No. 1 (1985), p.34, note 3.
15. Ian Lustick, ‘Stability in Deeply Divided Societies: Consociationalism Versus Control’, World Politics,
Vol. 31, No. 3 (1979), pp.325–44; Lloyd Musolf and J. Fred Springer, ‘Legislatures and Divided
Societies: The Malaysian Parliament and Multi-Ethnicity’, Legislative Studies Quarterly, Vol. II,
No. 2 (1977), pp. 113– 36.
16. Barraclough, (note 14), p.41.
17. Jason Abbott, ‘Vanquishing Banquo’s Ghost: The Anwar Ibrahim Affair and Its Impact on Malaysian
Politics’, Asian Studies Review, Vol. 25, No. 3 (2001), p.286.
18. For details, see Meredith L. Weiss, ‘The 1999 Malaysian General Elections: Issues, Insults, and
Irregularities’, Asian Survey, Vol. 40, No. 3 (2000), pp.413–35.
19. See Harold Crouch, ‘Malaysia: Do Elections Make a Difference?’, in R.H. Taylor (ed.), The Politics of
Elections in Southeast Asia (Cambridge, MA: Woodrow Wilson Center Press and Cambridge
University Press, 1996), pp.114– 35.
20. Bridget Welsh, ‘Malaysia in 2004: Out of Mahathir’s Shadow?’, Asian Survey, Vol. 45, No. 1 (2005),
p.156.
21. Ibid., pp.155– 6; Bridget Welsh, ‘Tears and Fears: Tun Mahathir’s Last Hurrah’, in Daljit Singh and
Chin Kin Wah (eds), Southeast Asian Affairs 2004 (Singapore: ISEAS, 2004), pp.139–55.
22. Abbott, (note 17), p.286.
23. For instance, Edward Aspinall, Opposing Suharto: Compromise, Resistance, and Regime Change in
Indonesia (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2005); Philip Eldridge, Non-Government Organ-
izations and Democratic Participation in Indonesia (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1995);
Suzaina Kadir, ‘Contested Visions of State and Society in Indonesian Islam: The Nahdlatul Ulama in
Perspective’, in Chris Manning and Peter van Diermen (eds), Indonesia in Transition: Social Aspects of
Reformasi and Crisis (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2000), pp.319–35.
 42 DE MOCR AT IZ AT ION

24. Vincent Boudreau, ‘Diffusing Democracy? People Power in Indonesia and the Philippines’, Bulletin of
Concerned Asian Scholars, Vol. 31, No. 4 (1999), p.6.
25. Ibid., pp.11– 12.
26. Aspinall (note 23), pp. xi, 252. Aspinall untangles this paradox of organizational weakness and rampant
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opposition sentiment to understand Reformasi from the point of view of its protagonists.
27. See Stefan Eklöf, Indonesian Politics in Crisis: The Long Fall of Suharto, 1996–98 (Copenhagen:
Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, 1999) or Aspinall, (note 23).
28. Aspinall, (note 23), chap. 5.
29. Boudreau, (note 24), p.13.
30. R. William Liddle, ‘Indonesia’s Democratic Transition: Playing by the Rules’, in Andrew Reynolds
(ed.), The Architecture of Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp.373–99.
31. Ken Young, ‘The National Picture—A Victory for Reform?’, in Susan Blackburn (ed.), Pemilu: The
1999 Indonesian Election (Clayton, Victoria: Monash Asia Institute, 1999), pp. 3–9; Azyumardi
Azra, ‘The Islamic Factor in Post-Soeharto Indonesia’, in Chris Manning and Peter van Diermen
(eds), Indonesia in Transition: Social Aspects of Reformasi and Crisis (Singapore: Institute of South-
east Asian Studies, 2000), pp. 309–18.
32. R. William Liddle, ‘Indonesia in 2000: A Shaky Start for Democracy’, Asian Survey, Vol. 41, No. 1
(2001), pp.208–20; Michael S. Malley, ‘Indonesia in 2001: Restoring Stability in Jakarta’, Asian
Survey, Vol. 42, No. 1 (2002), pp.124–32.
33. Arief Budiman, ‘The 1999 Indonesian Election: Impressions and Reflections’, in Susan Blackburn
(ed.), Pemilu: The 1999 Indonesian Election (Clayton, Victoria: Monash Asia Institute, 1999),
pp. 17 –18; Margot Cohen, ‘Unguided Missiles’, Far Eastern Economic Review, 26 November
1998, pp. 16, 18. The Ciganjur Declaration called for free elections and popular sovereignty,
phasing out the military’s political and parliamentary role, decentralization and fair allocation of
funds to the regions (but still a unitary state), and investigation into corruption and especially Suharto’s
wealth.
34. Malley (note 32); Michael S. Malley, ‘Indonesia in 2002: The Rising Cost of Inaction’, Asian Survey,
Vol. 43, No. 1 (2003), pp.135–46.
35. Rita Smith Kipp, ‘Indonesia in 2003: Terror’s Aftermath’, Asian Survey, Vol. 44, No. 1 (2004), p.69.
36. Ibid.; Liddle (note 32).
37. DEMOS, Executive Report, 1st Round Study of the Problems and Options of Indonesian Democratisa-
tion (Jakarta: Indonesian Center for Democracy and Human Rights Studies, 2004), p.2.
38. Boudreau (note 24), p.14.
39. Max Lane, ‘Mass Politics and Political Change in Indonesia’, in Arief Budiman, Barbara Hatley, and
Damien Kingsbury (eds), Reformasi: Crisis and Change in Indonesia (Clayton, Victoria: Monash Asia
Institute, 1999), pp.242, 245.
40. Max Lane, ‘Indonesia: Rejecting the Old ‘Elit Politik’, Green Left Weekly, 21 April 2004, p.20.
41. Stephen Sherlock, The 2004 Indonesian Elections: How the System Works and What the Parties Stand
For (Canberra: Centre for Democratic Institutions, 2004), pp.4, 15 –16.
42. Harold Crouch, ‘No, the Military Isn’t Running Indonesia’, International Herald Tribune, 2 August
2001.
43. DEMOS, (note 37), p.3. See also the account by Olle Törnquist, ‘Assessing Democracy from Below: A
Framework and Indonesian Pilot Study, Democratization Vol. 13, No. 2 (April 2006), pp.227–55.
44. Malley, ‘Indonesia in 2002’, (note 34), p.146.
45. William Case, ‘Democracy in Southeast Asia: How to Get It and What Does It Matter?’, in Mark
Beeson (ed.), Contemporary Southeast Asia: Regional Dynamics, National Differences (New York:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), p. 96.
46. Donald K. Emmerson, ‘A Year of Voting Dangerously?’, Journal of Democracy, Vol. 15, No. 1 (2004),
pp.94–108.
47. Aspinall, (note 23), p.259.
48. Aspinall, (note 23), p.2.
49. DEMOS, (note 37), p.3.
50. Aspinall, (note 23), p.272.
51. Emmerson, (note 46), p.95.
52. DEMOS, (note 37), p.3.
53. Cf. Holger Albrecht, ‘How Can Opposition Support Authoritarianism? Lessons from Egypt’, Democra-
tization, Vol. 12, No. 3 (2005), pp.378–97; or Nancy Bermeo, ‘Myths of Moderation: Confrontation
and Conflict During Democratic Transitions’, Comparative Politics, Vol. 29, No. 3 (1997), pp.305–22.
54. O’Donnell and Schmitter, (note 4), p.3.
 REFORM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA 43

55. Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way, ‘The Rise of Competitive Authoritarianism’, Journal of Democ-
racy, Vol. 13, No. 2 (2002), p.59, emphasis in original.
56. Eva-Lotta E. Hedman, ‘Contesting State and Civil Society: Southeast Asian Trajectories’, Modern
Asian Studies, Vol. 35, No. 4 (2001), pp.921–51.
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57. Iris Marion Young, ‘State, Civil Society, and Social Justice’, in Ian Shapiro and Casiano Hacker-
Cordón (eds), Democracy’s Value (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p.153.
58. Aspinall, (note 23), p. 2.

Manuscript accepted for publication May 2006

Address for correspondence: Meredith L. Weiss, East-West Center Washington, 1819 L St NW, Suite 200,
Washington DC 20036, USA. E-mail: WeissM@EastWestCenter.org